All right. I’m about done with the whole animal thing. Driving home tonight, Lala saw something lying in the road in front of us. When I stopped, with the thing lying right in front of us, we could see it was a cat. A cat who had only been hit once. So far.
I turned on the flashers, got out, and checked. Yes, she was very very dead. Newly dead. She was almost undamaged, just a pool of blood under her head, coming from her mouth. I lifted her with both hands. She was so newly dead that she still felt like a cat, a sleeping limp cat. She had no collar, so I put her on the sidewalk so that her owner can find her intact, rather than seeing her flattened. After Digit died (but didn’t), I drove our neighborhood for months, checking out every flat dead animal, searching for a scrap of fur that I recognized.
Lala said I was brave, but I didn’t feel brave. All I know is that the owner of that lovely, fat, black and white girl is going to be very, very sad. When I picked up Digit tonight, he had the same heft she had. He’s on me now, as I type in bed. Hard to use my right hand, but that’s okay. He’s alive. And so is Bart.
I’m really sad for that owner, though.
Aww. As I typed that and got teary, Digit nose-kissed me, that nose-kiss that he never EVER gave me before he returned from the dead, the kiss I always wanted but never got. I love the nose-kiss. I’ve had two more since I started typing this paragraph! Joy. (Now three!)
Still not dead
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